


Tribulation

by ottergirl



Series: Sinners [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blackmail, Blindfolds, Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottergirl/pseuds/ottergirl
Summary: Written for fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme at DW. Prompt: Grindelwald!Graves/Newt - non-con during interrogation scene.In the morning, Graves summoned him to his office again.Part 2 of "Sinner, no saint."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Continues directly from "Sinner, no saint". Read first: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8654509

Tina slept eventually, her head on Newt's shoulder and her hand around his. On his left Jacob snored loudly, leaning heavily into his side. Pickett crept out from his breast pocket and hid under the collar of his coat, pricking his skin with his sharp toes and fingers. He did not sleep, but as the hours passed he began to feel as though the thing that had happened in Graves' office was in the past, not something that was still happening, that must always be happening.

In the morning, Graves summoned him to his office again.

*

He'd shed his coat, quickly, while Pickett still clung to the collar, doing his best to ignore the creature's little cries of distress; a glimpse backwards had shown Tina gathering it up, closing her hand over the collar to hide Pickett from view as she watched him walk away. The rest of his clothing was disheveled, his skin feeling strange underneath it, prickly. Graves reached out a hand to touch the trailing end of his necktie, and Newt did not flinch. He rested his own hands on his knees, fingers squeezing a little. He was seated, Graves was not. The older wizard leaned against his desk, sighing a little as he took back his hand and looked over Newt with considering eyes.

He did not look up, but he felt that gaze everywhere it touched.

"Did you have a pleasant evening?" Under Graves' deep pitch, his broad and American accent, there was a warmth that made Newt shiver.

He thought of the long sleepless hours, the sensation of being trapped in his own skin like one of his poor creatures in a cage, Tina and Jacob's presence the only thing that had made it bearable. "Not especially, no."

"I see." Newt glanced up, briefly; what did Graves see? The man was still looking, and he reached out a hand and caught Newt's chin before he could lower it again. "You know, Mr. Scamander, loosing magical beasts over a populated no-maj city is an executable offense. On top of that, you've stated that you came here with the intent to traffic in another type of creature--"

"I did not--" Newt began.

"And," Graves cut over him, "you're keeping company with an unobliviated no-maj and a disgraced Auror who I can very well try as your accomplice, with all the same penalties applied--"

Newt felt himself pale. "She's innocent. They're both innocent, please--"

"Now you stated to me, Mr. Scamander, that you aren't one of Grindelwald's fanatics." Newt fell silent. Graves moved around behind him, touching his jaw, his throat. He laid a hand over the nape of his neck and Newt shut his eyes, feeling himself swallow. Graves leaned down to him, mouth nearly brushing his ear. "Is that the story you want to stand by, Mr. Scamander? Because, you see, it might go better for you--and Miss Goldstein, and your animals--if your confessions could aid us in capturing one of the deadliest wizards of our age."

His eyes still closed, Newt said, "I don't know what you want me to say. I've never encountered him. I'm not--"

"What do you think is going to happen to your animals," Graves said quietly in his ear, "if you are dead?"

There was a rising desperation in his chest. He found himself looking around, searching as though--for what? A spare wand? His case, conveniently left in reach? Graves' hand closed lightly around his throat, and Newt felt his own revulsion, his own response--those hands that had held him, that had stroked through his hair, caressed the nape of his neck while he--

Graves seemed to be waiting for a reply. Newt had none. He had so few things to pledge for his creatures, so little with which to buy their safety even for a few moments longer, Graves must know that.

The man's hand around his throat tightened. It forced Newt's head back, and he closed his eyes again as he felt Graves touch his lower lip with a thumb, dragging it apart from the upper. He pressed his thumb into Newt's mouth, unhurried, skimming over the lower ridge of teeth until it brushed his tongue. Newt felt filthy, skin damp with sweat under his clothes, sore in the places Graves had abused the day before. The man pressed down on his tongue as though to hold it in place. He felt the tip of a wand brush his collar very lightly, with an accompanying tingle of magic and a murmured word: his necktie slid and slithered from his collar and a moment later settled across his eyes, tying off in a neat knot at the back of his head.

"There," Graves murmured, comforting. "That's better."

His thumb slid from between Newt's lips. He took hold of his jaw, angling it, and Graves covered his mouth with his. In the darkness of the makeshift blindfold he was frozen, his lips parted as Graves pushed his tongue into his mouth and held his face cupped in his strong hand. He had nothing to bargain with. Jacob and Tina, they were--their fate was in his hands, he had to protect them, too, like his creatures, they were in his care now. If he did well enough, if he kept them safe for another day, perhaps when he returned to the cell he would not feel so shamed that he could not let them touch him.

Graves' mouth became demanding, his grip strengthening on Newt's chin. He heard himself make some sound, muffled by the man's tongue. It all filled his senses, the taste of him, the warmth of his hand, the callouses of his palm rasping against his jaw. Panic beat in his breast. He tried to understand what the man wanted, why he did this; there was something wrong with Graves, he perceived it, Tina perceived it, why did the rest of MACUSA not see? Why did they leave them in his hands?

Graves dragged him to his feet. The chair went over with a clatter, Newt fetching back against the man's desk and Graves' hands on his shoulders and Graves was speaking, "All right, shh, it's all right," in his ear, close to him, and Merlin's beard, Newt had nearly had enough of being hushed like one of his animals. Graves had both hands on him, pushing his waistcoat from his shoulders. There was another murmured charm and the rustle of clothing as his shirt undid itself and slid down his arms, catching around his wrists; the fabric pulled firm, knotting them together. He was bound and he was blind and his heart was beating in the cage of his ribs like the panicked flutter of a bird's wings. He felt Graves cup his face and the man's lips brush his cheek. "That's better," the man said again. His hand stroked Newt's throat. "Isn't it?"

Newt breathed out slowly. "I couldn't really say if it were otherwise, could I, Mr. Graves?"

He felt Graves' chuckle, felt his hands unfastening his trousers. "No, Mr. Scamander."

He wondered--his breath seething, his legs feeling as though they would buckle, Graves' hand coaxing him along, stroking his cock in a steady rhythm as he held Newt close against him--he wondered if this was indeed better, the touch in the dark, the other man's presence surrounding him, overpowering. His inability to struggle. If he stayed quiet and endured, it would be over soon. He would be permitted to go back--but his mind shied from the thought of the cell and his friends waiting for him. They would look at him and know what had happened. They would want to comfort him. And it was unbearable, while Graves had him in his arms--as claustrophobic as a cage--and he was making Newt feel sick with the sparks of pleasure he wrung from him.

Graves' hand cradled Newt's head against his shoulder. "I'm going to fuck you, Mr. Scamander," he told him, quiet. "And I want you to understand something. It's not just that you're lovely. It's that you're helpless."

But he had always understood, he thought, as clothing slid away and left him naked, except for his shirt bound tight as rope around his wrists, and Graves guided him forward. Even before this, even when it was just questions he had seen in this man something that sought control over other creatures, sought their vulnerabilities and uses. It wasn't just that he was naked, now, it was that he was stripped down to something violable in Graves' eyes. It was agony, but Newt contained it. The humiliation, the rage and fear: he locked it all within. There were sanctuaries in his mind that he made living and real, places where hurt creatures could be healed.

He thought of that as Graves drew him into his lap, in his chair, and guided him down onto his cock. The man's hands held him at his hip and at the nape of his neck, cradling him as he split Newt open. He filled him, thick and deep inside him, and rubbed over his spine with a curved palm. His lungs felt constricted, breath ragged and painful, like he was suffocating from within. Graves held him firmly and fucked him slowly, pushing up into him, over and over again, and he felt as though he was fragmenting. Something within him was fragile as glass, the splinter running deeper and deeper. He knew what Graves wanted was to break him, and he didn't know how to stop it, he didn't know how to stop himself from giving the man what he wanted.

Graves took hold of him again. His hand curved warm around Newt's cock and stroked him base to tip, working him over until his breath came in choked gasps, until sensation and shame obliterated everything else.

*

Pickett curled around Tina's hand, tiny toes clinging as though her fingers were the branches of a tree. With a forefinger, she stroked his little head. Across from her, Newt sat against the bars, at a distance from her and Jacob. She hadn't wanted to leave him alone there, but he had held up a hand when she would have approached, that defenseless gesture keeping her back, breaking her heart.

"Pickett missed you," she murmured.

Newt's gaze came back from the far-off place he was seeing. His eyes softened a little. He leaned forward and reached out his hand, Tina put out hers, and Pickett stepped from her fingers to Newt's.

"I'm sorry," he said, speaking to them or to Pickett, she wasn't sure. "I'm doing my best."

Tina's throat closed. Jacob reached out to touch her shoulder, comforting. Newt didn't look up. _I won't let you save us anymore,_ she thought, watching him, and then, as she'd been doing for hours, she called her sister's name.


End file.
